


The Louie’s Gambit

by ReesieReads



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017), The Queen's Gambit (TV)
Genre: Addiction, Angst with a Happy Ending, Background Della Duck, Background Dewey Duck, Background Donald Duck, Background Huey Duck, Chess, Drug Addiction, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Louie Duck Needs a Hug, Louie Duck-centric, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:20:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28091547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReesieReads/pseuds/ReesieReads
Summary: After a horrible car crash in which his Mother goes missing, Louie is taken to Methuen Orphanage. From there his life only gets more insane, following a path full of chess, addiction, and missing brothers?
Relationships: Louie Duck & Lena (Disney: DuckTales), Louie Duck & Scrooge McDuck
Comments: 6
Kudos: 30





	The Louie’s Gambit

**Author's Note:**

> This story is based off of the television series The Queen’s Gambit, however it is not necessary to see the show or to read the book before reading.
> 
> Please keep the tags in mind: This story deals with addiction (in both children and adults), as well as child abuse and very mild violence. You have been warned.

He had been nine when the crash happened.

Louie couldn’t remember most of it, his mind blocking out the awful memories. But he  _ did  _ remember right afterwards, waking up in the backseat with his Mother’s body nowhere to be found.

He had pushed the car door open, eerily calm as he stepped out onto the old metal bridge. The wind had been chilling over the river, and despite the hoodie he had been wearing Louie was shivering from head to toe.

A black car sat over the top of his mother’s red one (the ‘Cloudslayer’ she had dubbed it), tires digging into the broken windshield. Smoke rose into the sky from the other car’s engine, tainting the air and filling Louie’s lungs with ash.

A body (not his Mother’s) lay just in front of the crash, apparently having been flung from the black car’s windshield. Blood soaked their clothing, and Louie could see glass sticking up through bloodied feathers.

“A miracle,” the cops had said when they had arrived on the scene, looking down at him with pity in their dead eyes, “not even a scratch on him!”

He could recall standing on that bridge for what felt like hours, staring numbly at the crash. Louie couldn’t tell what he had been feeling then, sadness maybe, anger? All he remembered is desperately hoping to see his Mother step out of the vehicle, or to at least  _ see  _ her.

He hadn’t cared if she was even dead at that point, just that she had  _ left. _

The cops never did find her though, and eventually a sleek, black car rolled up to take him to an orphanage. Apparently, Louie didn’t have any family marked down that could take him in. He hadn’t found that surprising, considering his Mother never spoke about their family.

The driver had been nice enough, a man named Launchpad who seemed to have an extreme case of motor mouth. Louie wasn’t listening though, his mind like static as he watched trees pass them by through the window, screams still ringing in his ears.

-

“Llewelyn Duck surveys a troubled future.”

The head of Methuen Orphanage for Boys and Girls, Mrs. Beakley read gravely. She sat at a long desk in her office, afternoon light filtering in from the window behind her. In front of her was her most trusted assistant Duckworth, the older man sitting calmly in one of two plush chairs as she read the file on their newest ‘member.’

“Llewelyn, nine years old, was left without family by the crash.” Bentina shivered as she read the sentence. Despite the fact that she had heard the same terrible news for kids of all ages, the atrocities still pained her. “His mother, Della Duck, was pronounced missing from the scene.”

“And the father?” Duckworth prompted.

Bentina shook her head, looking up to face her assistant. After all these years it felt odd to see him aged, with balding grey hair and wrinkles across his forehead. She couldn’t help but feel old as she glanced at her life-long friend. “Doesn’t say.”

“I would guess, like most men around this area,” the man lead, voice laced with exhaustion, “he was yet another victim of a carefree life.”

Sighing, Bentina couldn’t help but look over the file again. There was very little information given (which was saying something, considering most of her children were troublemakers of some kind), but there  _ was  _ a picture provided.

It was of a young woman with shoulder-length hair and bright eyes, hugging a young Llewelyn to her side with an easy-going smile. She wore a battered aviator’s jacket, a baby blue scarf wrapped snugly around her neck. Llewelyn was grinning as well, gripping on tightly to the arm his Mother had wrapped around his waist.

Bentina wasn’t fooled by the photo however, recognizing the dullness of Llewelyn’s expression and the dilation of his Mother’s eyes. Unfortunately, many of the children who came to her orphanage suffered with addicted parents, and it looked like Llewelyn Duck was no different.

“Poor dear.”

-

The orphanage was bigger than he had been expecting.

The house (more of a mansion really) stood tall against its natural surroundings, a stark white against green. Windows adorned the entire front, all laced with bright, white trim. Dark shingles contrasted with the bright home, giving it a balanced look.

Louie could feel nerves in his stomach as the car pulled up, and the fact that he was feeling  _ anything  _ gave him whiplash. He couldn’t help it though, especially not when he saw an intimidating older woman hurrying out of the home to greet him.

As Launchpad pulled up the front entrance, he shot Louie an apologetic glance. It was the closest the driver had come to acknowledging what had happened, and he found himself wishing for the normalcy of the man’s rambles again. Stories about Drake and Gosalyn (Launchpad’s husband and adopted daughter) helped ground him, letting Louie focus on something  _ other  _ then the fact that his Mother had abandoned him in a car crash,

The woman from before raced up to open Louie’s door, a strained and pitying smile on her face. Her greying hair had been pulled back into a tight bun, and she adorned a dark purple cardigan over her lavender dress. She reminded Louie of a traditional grandmother, just ten times scarier.

“Welcome, Llewelyn.”

-

The inside was even grander than the outside.

High-vaulted ceilings and light lavender walls left the place feeling spacious and open. Light hanging lamps swung slightly above them, lighting their path. Even the mahogany floors were slick and shiny, the smell of cleaning chemicals burning in the air.

Mrs. Beakley (as the older woman had insisted he call her) held his hand in an iron grip as she led him through the grandiose manor. If this had been any other day Louie likely would have at least  _ complained,  _ but his mouth didn’t seem to be working properly and he didn’t think he had the energy to argue anyway.

“Mr. Duckworth,” the woman said, looking over to an older man donning a traditional butler’s outfit, “this is Llewelyn Duck.”

Before Louie could try to correct her (though he had a feeling his mouth wouldn’t let him even if he tried), there came a loud yell from upstairs. “Your all a bunch of fucking  _ assholes!” _

The two adults looked at each other, sharing a look of exhaustion and annoyance,  _ “Lena.” _

“I got it,” Duckworth said, and Louie watched the man as he hurried up the stairs. He wondered if this was normal behavior here, if kids just went around cursing and screaming. Based on the adults' reactions, he doubted it. 

Mrs. Beakley pointed into a nearby hall, where a room with a few desks could be seen through the doorway. She looked down at him with a bright smile, “In there is our classroom. You’ll meet your teacher’s on Monday.”

If Louie had the energy to be sarcastic, he would have.

“And this is our day room,” she continued, pointing forward to a humongous cafeteria. Louie could see kids of all kinds sitting at tables, and while they didn’t look the same  _ physically  _ they all had the same dull navy clothes and dead-eyed expressions. “Where you will have all of your meals, and enjoy daily-socialization.”

A boy walked out of the room, his navy pants hiked high and a proud expression across his face. He seemed carefree, and about Louie’s age. “Hi, Mrs. Beakley!” He greeted with enthusiasm and a kind wave.

“Hello, Boyd.”

-

Louie couldn’t _ believe  _ the bedroom.

It was bigger than any room he’d ever been in, with high wooden walls and navy carpet. Windows stood on the far wall, bathing the room in light. He could see rows of identical beds, all with golden frames and neatly tucked sheets that were a black plaid. It was almost eerie to see the same twenty-something beds looking at him.

“Come on, let’s get you settled,” Mrs. Beakley said, a hand on his shoulder as she led him over to the far left and to the bed next to the bathroom. Louie’s toothbrush (which Mrs. Beakley had given him before taking him to the bedroom), rattled inside his dull, glass holder. “We have twenty-one children here, and they are all just as sweet as you.”

“This will be your special place,” the older woman explained as she rested a hand on the bed’s golden frame, “your clothes will go into the basket underneath the bed, your toothbrush on the nightstand, and any personal items can be left in your drawer.”

Walking over to the nightstand, Louie unceremoniously placed the toothbrush holder on its top. There was a soft  _ clink!  _ and Mrs. Beakley smiled at him warmly, sitting down on the bed next to Louie’s before inviting him to sit across from her.

Something told him that this conversation wouldn’t be pleasant, but Louie obeyed anyway, looking down at his clasped hands in order to avoid the woman’s piercing gaze.

“I know at this moment, all you’re feeling is loss.” She began, and Louie tensed, “but after grief brings you low, prayer and faith will lift you high. High enough for you to see a new path for yourself.”

_ ‘My mother left me, she’s not dead!’  _ Louie thought irritability,  _ ‘she can’t be!’ _

“I think, Llewelyn,” Mrs. Beakley continued, not seeming to notice Louie’s discomfort, “you’re going to find a much different life here… a better one then you might have had.”

He looks up now, searching the caretaker’s gaze as if that will tell him why she was accusing him of having a bad home life. Louie would readily admit it hadn’t been  _ easy,  _ but his Mother was trying her best. It wasn’t her fault that he was a burden.

Mrs. Beakley rested a hand on his knee, one that might have been comforting had Louie known her, “and I’m sure that you and I are going to be good friends.”

He doubted that.

-

They forced him to conform.

Like all the other boy’s, Louie’s hair had been cut short and unassuming. His Mother had kept forgetting to get it cut before the crash, and his bangs had swept low before his eyes. He was somewhat grateful for the cut, even if it stung that it wasn’t his Mother’s hands who were doing the trimming.

He was  _ not  _ grateful for being forced to get rid of his hoodie.

The green article had been a gift from his Mother when he was five, and four years later Louie still had yet to part with it. The fabric smelled of  _ home,  _ like a warm fire and his Mother’s constant scent of coffee and spring. But it also held the scent of smoke and ash, a reminder that made Louie’s nose curl.

Mrs. Beakley had instructed him to pull the hoodie off, now looking through hangers of navy uniforms for one in his size. Louie’s chest constricted as he forced himself to pull the article over his head, the cold chill of the room suddenly hitting him.

Brushing a finger against the soft and worn fabric, Louie fought to get a handle on his emotions.

Apparently finding a suitable uniform, Mrs. Beakley pulled the hoodie out of his hands and handed him the itchy clothing she had picked instead. The collar was yellowing, likely from age, and the only thing the uniform smelled like was mothballs and dust.

Looking over the hoodie with poorly hidden distaste, the caretaker looked over at him with a small smile, “I think we’ll burn this one.”

Louie already hated the orphanage.

-

Getting the pills for the first time was interesting.

Mrs. Beakley had led him into the day room after he had changed, pushing him into a long line of other kids before walking off to do something or other. Louie watched carefully as the kid at the front took a small plastic cup from Duckworth (who was standing behind a white window, almost like a pharmacy), tilting back their head to swallow before walking away.

“The green ones are the best.”

He jumped, looking in front of him to a girl not much older than himself. She had cropped hair (all of the girls at Methuen seemed to) with light pink ends, and sunken eyes that seemed to hold far too much knowledge. She seemed good natured though, an easy-going smile on her face that reminded Louie of his Mother’s (when she wasn’t high anyway).

Finally seeming to find his voice now that there were no adults around, Louie asked, “what are they?”

“Vitamins,” the girl said with a shrug and a smirk, “magic vitamins.”

Louie didn’t like the sound of that.

“If I were you,” she continued, “I’d save the green ones up for the night time. Otherwise, they turn off right when you need them to turn on. If you know what I mean.”

He  _ did  _ know what she meant, he just wasn’t sure if he wanted to be a part of it. 

They walked forward a bit, and the girl turned to him again, “hey, what’s your name, kid?”

“Louie.”

“Lena,” she said, “your parents dead?”

He hesitated, unsure of whether to give the real situation or just nod. Deciding that nodding would save him the trouble of speaking, he nodded.

“What’s the last thing they said to you before they died?” Lena asked with far too much enthusiasm, “I ask everybody that. We get some really fun answers.”

_ His Mother looked at him through the top mirror, tears trailing down her cheeks. She seemed lucid, the most sober Louie had seen her in months, maybe years. She also looked heartbroken, like someone had taken out her heart and stomped on it. She whispered, “close your eyes.” _

Feeling sick to his stomach, Louie mumbled, “I don’t remember.”

“Someday, you might.” Lena said, not seeming all that put out by the lack of an answer, “if you do, let me know.”

They walked up to the counter, and Louie watched as Lena took the cup and swallowed down whatever lay inside. She seemed nonchalant about the whole endeavor, as if she had done the same thing a million times before. Walking past Louie she gave him an encouraging smile, one that he struggled to return.

Stepping up to the window, Louie only felt his apprehension grow. Duckworth handed him a small paper cup, where inside two large pills rattled. One was red, he had never seen it before. The other was green, Louie knew  _ that  _ pill all too well.

“Green to even your disposition,” Duckworth explained, “red is for building a strong body. Take them both.”

Glancing at the man, Louie let out a soft sigh. It was clear he wasn’t going to get out of this. Part of him wasn’t sure if he even  _ wanted  _ to. After all, Lena had made a big deal about how good the green ones were, and he knew his Mother liked them. It only made sense that Louie would enjoy them too.

He tipped his head back and swallowed,

The impact was instant, the room seeming to tilt and spin around him. Louie placed a hand on the wall as he stumbled into the hall, using it to help keep him balanced. He could see his hands shaking, but he wasn’t sure if they were truly moving or if it was just the pills messing with him.

He stumbled into a doorway, pausing as he looked up to see a man he hadn’t been introduced to. It was an older gentleman, he donned a dark red coat and a black top hat. Swiveling a mop across the already-smooth floors, Louie heard the keys at the man’s hip jangle.

The man turned to look at him, and Louie quickly stumbled away.

-

“I thought I told you to wait and take those vitamins at bedtime.”

Louie glanced up from his plate of unknown food, his vision still swimming as he looked over to Lena. He felt like he was underwater, everything around him garbled and muted. It wasn’t an unpleasant feeling though, not when it dulled his mind’s usually constant racing.

“What is this?” He asked, pointing down at the weird pink slab on his plate. Louie had a feeling his voice was slurring, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

“Fish, as far as we know.” Lena said with a shrug, placing a piece into her mouth before continuing. “We eat it every Friday, and you have to eat every bite or Mrs. Beakley will make sure you won’t get adopted.”

Louie wasn’t sure how accurate that assessment was, but he wasn’t willing to risk it. Cutting a small piece out of the maybe-fish, he used his fork to place it in his mouth. The flavor was awful, like the mystery-meat had been doused in oil and a bucket of salt. Grimacing, Louie set his fork back down.

He missed his Mom’s cruddy cooking.

-

Louie couldn’t sleep when bedtime came.

Insomnia had been a constant struggle throughout his life, something that kept him up until the late hours. It didn’t matter if he was tired or if he laid in a comfortable position, sleep just never seemed to come.

Which is why he wasn’t exactly surprised to still be lying awake in his uncomfortable bed whilst the other children around him slept. A storm had started sometime during the evening, and Louie could hear the wind whistling through the thin walls. Shadows cast around the room, and he watched a tree’s shadow that was projected on the ceiling shake vigorously.

In the silence and isolation of night, with the green pills' effects having worn off long ago, Louie found his mind wandering to the darker alleys of his memory.

_ “Della? Come on, open the door.” _

_ Louie, only five, crept into a hidden corner of the kitchen and peeked out the window. A man (a family member of some kind he knew), stood outside and banged on the door. He seemed tired, dressed in a black sailor’s outfit that was buttoned incorrectly with dark circles beneath his eyes. _

_ He watched as his Mother, still only dressed in her baby blue nightgown, ripped open the door. She was in the middle of another one of her episodes, manic and disheveled, depending on Louie to take care of both of their needs. Not that he minded of course, he knew she was struggling. _

_ “It’s taken me a whole month to find you!” The man complained, and Louie winced as his rough voice grated on his ears. _

_ “Good reason.” His mother replied flatly, placing her hands on her hips. _

_ “Whatever this is, whatever your doing,” the man said, voice shaking with exhaustion and emotion, “it’s nuts, even for you.” _

_ “Cut the crap, you wouldn’t understand.” _

_ “What I understand,” the man said, voice strained and laced with frustration, “is that you're not taking care of yourself.” _

_ Louie’s Mom rolled her eyes, tossing some sort of glass vile to the side. He watched as it landed near his feet, rolling on the cluttered trailer floor. Inside Louie could see large green pills, the kind he always saw his Mother choking down whenever she got a little too lucid. _

_ Earlier that evening, Louie had watched as his Mother raced around the trailer and grabbed all the photos and writings. Muttering to herself all the way through, even as she raced outside with the items. Louie had followed her, worried she would get herself hurt if she went out alone. _

_ He had been greeted with his Mother throwing the items into a burning garbage can, a grin on her face as she watched the pictures burn. He caught sight of one of them, his mother and the man who kept coming and found them holding three babies in their arms, happy smiles on their faces. It burned before he could get a closer look. _

_ “Isn’t it beautiful?” She had asked him. _

_ “Let me and the boys come in and talk to Llewelyn,” the man had said, cutting through Louie’s thoughts, “make sure he’s okay.” _

_ “Oh, so you can take him away too?” His Mother has snipped, her voice like ice, “he’s happy here! This is where he belongs!” _

_ The man had sighed, stepping back slightly from the door, “you honestly believe your son belongs in a trailer in the middle of nowhere?” _

_ “I think all my sons belong with me.” _

_ “Oh, please don’t Della, you know why I-“ _

_ “And he doesn’t like being called Llewelyn!” She snapped, slamming the door shut. _

_ “All right Della, you win!” The man called from outside, “I can’t fight anymore. And I can’t keep chasing you around everywhere, if all you ever do is run away again.” _

_ Louie watched his Mother look at the door, her face crumbling as her hands formed into fists at her side. Her voice shook as she said, “I’m sorry, Donald.” _

_ But the man couldn’t hear her. _

_ “Once I drive away again, I’m not coming back.” Donald stated, “Huey and Dewey aren’t going to call you anymore.” _

_ Louie watched through the blinds as Donald stomped back to his rickety blue car, face full of both grief and anger. Two small bodies could be seen in the back of the car, and Louie realized with a soft pang that it was his brothers sleeping in the backseat. _

_ Donald glanced through the window, meeting his gaze with an apologetic look, before swiftly getting into the driver’s seat of the car. Louie watched as he drove away with his brothers, feeling left behind. _

-

The next day, Louie was the first done in class.

The work had been surprisingly easy, just some simple multiplication. When his Mother hadn’t been too out of it, she would teach him through books about things of all kinds, from flying to basic math. They had spent hours in the ‘Spear of Selene’ (his Mother had loved naming things,  _ including  _ the trailer) just learning new stuff together. Louie had always looked forward to it.

“Mr. Duck, finished already?”

Louie glanced up, meeting the eyes of the school teacher Ms. Daisy. The young woman seemed kind, voice gentle as she spoke to them. It reminded him of what he had  _ wished  _ his Mother was like. Though the two women couldn’t have been more different, his Mother had been loud and opinionated, not kind and loving. Nodding to her question, he handed his paper over to her.

The teacher read over his answers quickly, her eyes widening as she skimmed. She seemed shocked, which Louie found strange because the paper hadn’t been even remotely difficult. Glancing back at him, Ms. Daisy sighed and gave him a soft smile. “Why don’t you go grab the erasers, and go down to the basement to clean them?”

As Louie walked out of the classroom he could hear Lena yelling down the hall, “you’re all a bunch of assholes! And you're the biggest one of them all!”

Coming around the corner was Duckworth, dragging Lena by the arm behind him. It wouldn’t surprise Louie if she had gotten in trouble, that seemed to be a recurring theme with her.

Duckworth looked at him out of the corner of his eye, raising an eyebrow, “and where are you going Mr.Duck?”

Holding up the two erasers, he was shooed off. As Louie walked down to the basement, he could still hear Lena’s biting curses behind him.

-

_ ‘Well this place isn’t creepy at all.’ _

That was Louie’s first thought as he trudged down into the basement. The concrete walls and floor were covered with dark stains, and he could have sworn there were cobwebs creeping out in the corner’s. The room was large too, metal shelves placed almost like a maze with objects of all kinds scattered across them. It was eerily silent, the only sound being his own shallow breaths.

Walking slowly over to the space Mrs. Beakley had said would be used to clean erasers, Louie paused. To his right he could see a bright light hanging over an open space in the shelves. The old man sat down there, leaning over some kind of checkerboard.

Louie turned and hit the erasers together, the loud sound ringing in his ears through the silence. As chalk dust covered his hands, he couldn’t help but look behind him to the old man again. Whatever the janitor was doing, he seemed focused, not even turning to glance in Louie’s direction as he smacked the erasers.

Watching carefully, Louie could see the janitor was moving plastic pieces across the board. One half of the board’s pieces were black, the other white. It seemed to have a medieval theme (like some of his Mother’s favorite stories) with horse and crown pieces. The way the janitor played seemed deliberate and careful, and Louie could help but wonder what game it was.

The old man turned to look at him, and Louie hurried away.

-

He saved the green pill the second day.

Lena showed him how to do it, sticking her tongue out to him and showed the middle of the long pill stuck to the grooves. He had easily followed the example, swallowing the red pill and slipping the green into his pocket when he got the chance.

Now it was bedtime, and Louie fiddled with the pill between his fingers as he contemplated using it. On the one hand, he knew just how bad the little pill could make people act. Louie had seen the manic effects it had on his Mother first hand. On the other, the pill had made him feel  _ good,  _ even  _ happy,  _ and Louie desperately needed that boost.

_ ‘You have control,’  _ he reminded himself, popping the pill into his mouth,  _ ‘you can stop if something goes wrong.’ _

Now used to the feeling of the world tilting, Louie studied the ceiling and thought back to the old man’s game. He could picture the pieces moving in his mind, the way the old man had set them down and the directions they’d gone. “You have a photogenic memory,” his Mother had told him once.

He was only vaguely surprised as the shadows of tree roots morphed into a dark checkerboard. After all, drugs  _ did  _ alter people’s minds, it would make sense if it could alter their vision too. Louie stared at the checkerboard for a long while, thinking up a plan to learn from the old man the following day.

It’d add something to his full routine at least.

-

“Good morning, kids!”

“Good morning, Mrs. Beakley” Louie echoed with the rest of the children as he hurriedly made his bed. He was beginning to see how the orphanage’s schedule worked, and while dull it  _ did  _ provide Louie some sort of constant. It was easier to focus on how much longer it’d take to get down to the basement again, then how much he missed his Mother.

“Violet, aren’t you a lucky girl?” Mrs. Beakley asked, and Louie rolled onto his bed to peek through the footboard and watch. The caretaker was standing next to a girl maybe a year or two younger than him. Louie remembered her arriving the day before, staying to herself and being kind and respectful. She had gotten to meet the family that came by Yesterday rather than all the other kids who were much older. “The Sabrewings really took a liking to you! So let’s get you packed up, nicely, like I taught you.”

A part of Louie was jealous, because at least that girl didn’t have to deal with the hell that was Methuen for more than a day. Another felt happy for her, because at least one of them was going somewhere. Louie had goals to accomplish at Methuen still, and he didn’t  _ really  _ want to go in case his Mother came back for him. So, in the end he was conflicted.

“That is not fair.” Lena said, rolling onto the bed beside Louie and shaking her head. “She got here before you.”

She looked down at the floor, frowning as she continued. “Most of us are lifers, I’ve been here a  _ long  _ time.”

Louie glanced over to his new (and  _ only)  _ friend, taking in her sunken eyes and dug-out cheeks. She seemed defeated, and while he wanted to comfort her he wasn’t sure how. There’s not much you can say to make living in an orphanage for most of your childhood better.

“No one’s gonna come for us now,” Lena said softly, glancing over at him, “we’re too old.”

Louie was tempted to ask when Lena had been admitted, and maybe  _ why,  _ but he held his tongue. She would want the same in return, and he didn’t think he had the words to describe his situation.

-

He got out of choir to go to the basement.

The plan had been to clean the erasers again, something Louie had felt was full-proof. But his patience had run thin whilst he listened to over twenty children sing horribly around him, and he had decided to take the risk of pretending to use the bathroom. Not that missing choir mattered much anyway, it wouldn’t be useful when he was older.

Sneaking down the stairs, Louie passed by the metal shelves and walked over to the old man. He was in the same spot as he was yesterday, sitting at a small black table with a checkerboard and plastic pieces. They didn’t say anything for a moment, and Louie simply watched as the man moved the pieces around.

“What do you want, lad?” The old man asked, startling Louie with his thick accent, “you should be in choir.”

“What’s that game called?”

The man paused, before moving a piece and sighing, “you should be upstairs with the others, lad.”

“I don’t want to be with the others,” Louie said, trying desperately to keep the frustration out of his voice, “I wanna know what you’re playing.”

The man glanced at him, moving yet another piece, “it’s called chess.”

“Will you teach me?” Louie asked, his voice coming out hopeful. The game had been all he’d thought about since his first visit to the basement, and his impatience to learn was finally getting to him.

The old man looked at Louie fully now, an eyebrow raised. He seemed surprised, but otherwise showed no emotion. “I don’t play strangers.”

Louie sighed, heading back to choir.

-

There were pieces on the ceiling checkerboard that night. Louie went another day without sleep.

-

“You were right,” Louie said to Lena during outdoor time, kids running and playing around them. He was exhausted, every bone in his body aching for sleep, but he also felt  _ accomplished.  _ A full month had passed since the janitor had turned him away, and yet Louie had taught himself how the pieces all moved. Lena glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. “The vitamins work better at night.”

“How many do you take?” She asked, her face pulling into one of concern. Louie wasn’t sure why though, he was perfectly in control of what he was doing. If he  _ had  _ to stop he could and would.

“I don’t know,” he said with a shrug, “sometimes I skip a day, maybe two, and then take two or three. I… like the way it feels.”

It was true. While the pills were helpful with Louie’s progress in chess, the real reason he took them was to get that floating feeling. When he was on the pills nothing but the checkerboard mattered, there were no missing mothers, no stolen brothers. Everything else just seemed to disappear into the background.

“I bet you do,” Lena said, eyeing him warily, “just be careful you don’t get too used to that feeling.”

-

Most nights he played ceiling chess.

Figuring out the game had become a sort of hobby for him, the thing Louie looked forward to through the long days of class and choir. While the routine at Methuen had been helpful at first, it now only bored him. 

Louie had started sneaking away when he could, creeping down into the basement and watching the janitor play. They hadn’t spoken again since the day Louie had asked to be taught, and he was pretty sure the old man had simply given up on getting him to go away.

One night, right as Louie was getting ready to take a couple of the pills, he heard Lena let out a whine to his left. The two of them had gotten bunks right next to each other, and he had long since gotten used to the sound of the girl’s snores. The noise she made didn’t  _ sound  _ like a snore though, and Louie found himself setting the pills to the side and walking over to his friend.

Lena’s face was pulled into one of fear, her hands clutching the blankets desperately as she let out another whimper. Louie could tell it was a nightmare, but he still wasn’t sure what to do. Would she be angry with him for waking her up?

Deciding to take the risk, Louie shook the girl’s shoulder,  _ “Lena!” _

The girl jolted upright, breathing hard as she stared straight at him. The panicked look in her eyes reminded Louie of dark nights in the trailer, his Mother begging him to get rid of creatures that weren’t there.

_ “Louie do something,” his Mother begged, looking at him with panicked and dilated eyes, “they don’t come after you!” _

_ “Mom what are you talking about?” Louie asked, he was only seven and it was far past his bedtime. He rubbed sleep from his eyes, looking up at his Mother who had shaken him awake frantically, “there’s nothing there!” _

_ “Moon monsters, Louie” she hissed at him, hands quivering, “they come here every night, looking for me.” _

_ “Mom please, I don’t understand.” _

Forcing himself back into the present, Louie interlaced his hands with Lena’s carefully. It was something he used to do with his Mother when she got particularly manic, a trick he’d found grounded her more into reality. It seemed to have the same effect on Lena, and the girl clutched his hands tightly as her breathing slowed and her eyes returned to their normal half-lids.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asked softly, careful to not disturb the other children.

After a moment Lena nodded, moving over slightly in her bed and patting the space beside her. Louie carefully crept in, allowing his friend to rest her head on his shoulder. She traced the lines on his palm, and he waited patiently for her to be ready.

“My parents died when I was a baby,” Lena explained softly, her voice fragile, “so the authorities gave me to my Aunt Magica. She wasn’t completely…  _ there  _ but I think they thought she’d be better then an orphanage.”

The  _ ‘she wasn’t’  _ went unsaid.

“She hated me,” Lena whispered, her voice shaking, “S-she would call me awful things, an-and say I was just like her, and tha-that  _ no one could love me-“ _

Louie pulled Lena into a hug, not minding the hot tears soaking his shirt. It was a position he had held many times over his life, for a handful of reasons. It never made the job any easier though, and he fought away the tears that threatened to fall from his eyes as he listened to his best friend choking down sobs.

“Lena, you're my  _ best  _ friend,” Louie said softly, squeezing her arms, “and  _ I  _ love you. I don’t care what your Aunt said, you're a way better person then she’ll  _ ever  _ be.”

The girl smiled, wiping at her eyes, “thanks, Lou.”

They stayed silent for a while, simply listening to the wind howling outside. It felt almost  _ odd  _ to not be playing ceiling chess at the late hour, like he was doing something  _ wrong.  _ He couldn’t explain the feeling, nor the itch to simply swallow down all the pills and just  _ forget.  _ He ignored it though, because Lena needed him, and Louie would  _ never  _ place some pills before his family. 

“My Mom was addicted to the same pills we take here,” he said softly, cutting through the silence. He figured if Lena was willing to share her past with him, then Louie might as well extend the same to her. “She used to get really manic when she took them, forgetting to take care of herself or forcing us to move randomly. I had to take care of her most of the time.”

When Louie had thought about telling this information to people in the past, he had always expected himself to cry. Instead, he just felt overwhelmingly  _ numb.  _ It was like a light switch, and he had finally been turned  _ off. _

“I don’t blame her,” he said softly, “it wasn’t her fault that the pills made her sick. And it wasn’t like she was  _ always  _ messed up, there were times she would read with me or make me brownies because she knew those were my favorite. None of the other stuff really mattered then.”

He didn’t know why he was defending her, besides the fact that now that the words were coming out of his mouth he was starting to realize how truly  _ bad  _ his situation had been. Restless nights comforting his Mother through hallucinations, horrible guilt when he said the wrong thing and caused a breakdown, days of hunger because he didn’t have time to cook over making sure his Mother was okay.

“I probably should have done more,” he muttered, leaning his head on Lena’s shoulder, “tried harder to get her to stop…”

“Louie, none of that is  _ your  _ fault okay?” Lena said, using her hand to force him to look at her. Despite the fact that she had just had a nightmare, her eyes were filled with nothing but concern for  _ him.  _

“Okay.”

“Good,” she said, laying down on her pillow and pulling Louie down with her, “now go to sleep before somebody hears us.”

For the first time in  _ years,  _ Louie got a full night's rest.

-

One day while visiting the basement, Louie decided he’d had enough. After weeks of watching the janitor out of the corner of his eye, and playing ceiling chess during the late hours, he had already learned how all of the pieces moved. The problem was knowing how the game  _ worked,  _ something Louie knew he would have to get from the grouchy janitor.

Slamming the erasers he’d been cleaning down on a shelf, Louie walked over to the janitor. The old man was moving the pieces like he usually did, paying Louie no mind. “I’m not a stranger you know,” he insisted, balling his fists at his sides, “I live here.”

Again, the man ignored him.

“I already know some of it,” Louie said, “from watching.”

“I play  _ alone.”  _ The man spat, accent thick with anger and contempt. 

Louie wasn’t willing to sit by anymore though, not when he was so close. Methuen was a prison to routine, the same boring slog every day. Chess had been his sole focus for  _ weeks,  _ he wasn’t about to let his only opportunity to learn the game slip through his fingers.

“That one moves up and down, or back and forth.” Louie said, pointing to the tiny castle and hoping his memory would help sway the old man. His Mother had always been impressed by his memory. “All the way, if there’s space to move it.”

The janitor raised his eyebrows, clutching a hand to the black cane at his side. Louie forced down a smirk, continuing as he pointed to the tiny piece up front, “but that one can only go up.” He pointed to the tall tower with a crown-like top, “that tall one can go any way it wants.”

Eyeing the man, Louie felt his confidence starting to fade. Chess was a complicated game, one that he already knew was much more than basic movements. Why would the janitor want to waste his time teaching some random orphan how to play?

“And this one?” The man asked softly, laying a finger down on a tall white piece.

“On the diagonals.”

He rested a finger on the white horse.

Louie grinned a bit, meeting the man’s eyes as he said, “one square diagonal, plus one square straight.”

The old man looked him over carefully, eyes scrutinizing. Louie suddenly felt self-conscious in his cheap navy clothes and with his messy hair. Looking nice hadn’t seemed important in the face of everything happening in his life, but now Louie wished he had cared just a bit more.

“Let’s play a game,” the janitor muttered gruffly, gesturing to the extra seat on the other side of the table. “I play white.”

Carefully taking a seat, Louie eyed the dark pieces in front of him. It felt odd to see the board so close, where he could move the tiny figures with his hands if he wanted. It felt more grounded then ceiling chess, more  _ controlled. _

The two exchanged moves back and forth for a bit, silent as they slid the pieces. The man seemed just as focused as he did in his solo games, and Louie felt thankful that he was taking this as more than a joke. 

As the man stole one of Louie’s shorter pieces he said, “that’s called a scholar’s mate.”

“Would you show me?”

“Not today, lad.”

_ “Please?” _

“Not today.”

-

Louie stared at the handful of pills in his hand.

It was the most he’d ever taken at one time, about six or seven of the little green capsules resting on his palm. He contemplated tapping out, simply taking the one or two and being done with the whole matter. But Louie had been craving them more and more over the last couple of days. He  _ needed  _ that floating feeling again, it had been far too long without it.

With a shaking hand, he pressed the pills into his mouth: Swallowing them all despite his dry throat.

He watched as the pieces slowly appeared on the ceiling, slowly beginning to move in the same spots they had in the basement that day. The movements kept repeating, and Louie continued to memorize.

If the old man wouldn’t teach him, then Louie would teach himself.

-

The next week went well, and then Louie had to ruin it.

He had been in the middle of a game with the old man (Mr. McDuck as Louie had come to learn) and his queen (he had learned the pieces' names by now) had just been taken. Despite the  _ many  _ games they had played, Louie had never lost his Queen.

When he went to make another move, Mr. McDuck was quick to swat his hand away. “You resign now, Lad. It’s good sportsmanship.”

“But I don’t  _ want  _ to resign,” he muttered, watching with disdain as his new teacher knocked down his King. “If it isn’t in the rules, shouldn’t it be  _ my  _ choice?”

“If you’re gonna learn from  _ me,”  _ Mr. McDuck said whilst leaning back in his seat, “you're gonna learn how to play  _ right.” _

Then-without thinking about it-Louie took a page out of Lena’s book, “you  _ asshole.” _

He didn’t know what the word meant, just that it was some sort of insult. Lena used it all the time though, and Louie had figured if she could get away with it then he probably could too. After all, that was only fair right?

The anger on Mr. McDuck’s face told him otherwise.

“Get  _ out.” _

-

“Hey Lena?”

They were laying in bed together again, Louie pressed into Lena’s side as the girl ran a hand through his hair. It had become a common occurrence after his stunt with Mr. McDuck, when the old man began to lock Louie out of the basement. He had seen refuge in Lena, because although she couldn’t teach him chess, her presence was comforting.

“What’s up?” She muttered softly.

“What’s an asshole?”

Lena snorted, pulling her hand away from Louie’s head. He ached from the loss of contact, and was partially tempted to place her hand back himself. It had been so long since he’d had such intimate care, and the idea of losing it for even a minute left his heart racing.

“An asshole is…” she paused, as if searching for the right words, “it’s the thing you… god I don’t know how to explain this to a nine year old. It’s just vulgar okay? You probably shouldn’t say it.”

_ ‘To late for that.’ _

“Then why do you say it?” He asked, leaning his head on her shoulder.

“Because I’m a teenager already,” she muttered,  _ “and  _ there’s no other word to describe these  _ assholes.” _

He decided to take her word for it.

-

One day the door was unlocked.

It had been two months since their argument, and yet it felt like nothing had changed. Mr. McDuck hadn’t even mentioned the comment, simply invited Louie over to play another game. He was a good man, Louie had decided, even if he was a bit grumpy.

It was right after Louie got his first checkmate that Mr. McDuck finally spoke to him, a small smile across his lips, “you’re gloating, lad.”

“I’m not.” He was.

“It was close,” the old man said as they both reset the board.

“I still beat you,” Louie retorted, feeling a rare inkling of pride bloom in his chest.

“Could have beat me sooner.”

Louie had missed this a lot more then he would ever admit out loud. As much as Mr. McDuck was standoffish, he was also pretty nice. It wasn’t everyday that you taught a random orphan how to play chess after they call you an  _ asshole  _ after all.

“You should learn the Sicilian Defense.”

“What’s that?”

He moved some of the pieces, a knight and a bishop. As he moved the knight he said, “and knight goes KB3.”

Louie paused, looking up to his teacher, “KB3?”

“King’s Bishop Three,” Mr. McDuck explained, pressing a finger down on the tiny white horse, “where I just put the knight.”

“The squares have  _ names?” _

The janitor winked at him, a small smile creeping onto his face, “they do if you play well, lad.”

Neither of them mentioned the insult.

-

Many months passed.

Every day seemed to be the same at Methuen, the same boring classes and disgusting meals, the same dull walls and depressed orphans. The only things Louie found himself looking forward to each day were chess, Lena, and the pills.

He had improved in chess immensely over the months, learning new strategies and plays with Mr. McDuck every day in the basement. Louie would practice on the ceiling most nights, perfecting the particularly hard plays like The Queen’s Gambit and memorizing the square’s names.

Lena and Louie had only grown closer as well, coming to depend on each other to get through most nights. The other children had long since cast them out, their older ages making them odd amongst the sea of tiny orphans. Lena’s blunt humor got him through some of the toughest days.

The pills had become an essential, a necessity that he saved over for nights when Lena didn’t ask him to sleep beside her. He had built up a tolerance for larger amounts now, taking as many as ten at a time so he could really focus on his chess (and have the world float away around him). Lena had expressed concerns about his intake, but Louie knew he was still in control. Now that Mr. McDuck was teaching him, Louie could stop anytime he needed too. He just figured the extra practice would make him more impressive to his new teacher.

The sentiment seemed to pay off when one day Mr. McDuck let him play white. Louie quickly got a checkmate, finding it surprisingly much easier when he started first. Of course, that may have just been all the practice.

He watched as Mr. McDuck stood up and walked over to his small shelf of items. It wasn’t much and Louie had never given it much thought before, but now he could see a stack of dusty books and a bottle of whiskey. Louie wondered if the old man had any photos of his family as well, or if he even  _ had  _ a family.

Grabbing a book with a deep red cover, the janitor handed it over to Louie. In fancy golden scrawl across the front it read:  _ Modern Chess Openings. _

“It’s the best book for you,” Mr. McDuck said simply, sitting back down in his chair, “it will tell you all you want to know.”

“Am I good enough for this now?” Louie found himself asking, looking over pages upon pages of different complicated plays. Part of him knew the question wasn’t just about chess, but he couldn’t find it in himself to ask Mr. McDuck what he really wanted to know. Louie didn’t think he could take another rejection.

“How old are you again, lad?”

“Nine,” he mumbled, “I’ll be ten in two months.”

“Nine years old,” the old man said, sounding astounded as he sat back in his chair.

“To tell you the truth of it, lad… you’re astounding.”

-

There was a woman with Mr. McDuck the next time Louie visited the basement.

She had short greying-blonde hair pushed back with a turquoise headband that paired well with her long teal dress. Complete with the light brown cardigan and large black glasses, and she completed the typical librarian look. She offered Louie a slightly deranged-looking smile, and he found himself tensing under her gaze.

“This is Ms. Quackfaster from the chess club.” Mr. McDuck explained.

“Chess club?” Louie asked, turning his attention to the janitor.

“We play in a club,” the older man said.

“I’m also the couch of the highschool team,” Mrs. Quackfaster cut in, stepping towards Louie with a glint in her eyes that he wasn’t sure he was imagining or not. “Archive high?”

Louie shook his head, feeling a bit embarrassed. He hadn’t left the Orphanage since he’d arrived, and hadn’t even seen the buildings around their location. Logically, Louie knew he had nothing to feel guilty about, but seeing Quackfaster’s disappointed look had sent his stomach plummeting.

The woman quickly smiled again though, sitting down in Mr. McDuck’s usual chair in front of the checkerboard. “Care for a game?”

As Louie sat down across from her, Quackfaster grabbed two pieces (one of each color) and placed them behind her back. He could hear the clink of plastic as she shuffled the two pieces, before holding out two fists to him, none of the pieces exposed. Louie glanced to Mr. McDuck in confusion.

“You play the color you choose, lad.”

He looked between the two hands carefully, before tentatively pointing to the one on his left. Quackfaster grinned, flipping her hand over to reveal the white Knight. Mr. McDuck inhaled sharply beside them, and Louie felt indignation bloom in his stomach. Didn’t his teacher believe in him? He would prove he could play white just as well as black.

The two passed between moves, the basement silent other than the silent clink of chess pieces. Louie felt a mixture of nerves and pride as he continued, both scared because he had never played with anyone but Mr. McDuck before, and proud because he  _ knew  _ he was good. 

“That’s mate in three,” he muttered softly, and at Quackfaster’s look of bewilderment began to show the process. The woman’s eyes widened in surprise as she watched him, sharing a glance with Mr. McDuck that could only be read as  _ ‘wow.’ _

“Well, you certainly know the game young man,” Quackfaster muttered, poorly hiding her surprise, “do you have a team here? Do the other children play chess as well?”

Louie shook his head lightly, “I just play down here…”

“Mr. McDuck tells me you play a few games everyday,” Quackfaster continued, looking impressed, “what do you do in between?”

“I play in my head,” he said, “on the ceiling.”

Quackfaster eyed him, her gaze piercing behind her thick frames. Louie felt like a science experiment, being watched for all of his components. 

“Do you want to play another game young man?”

Louie played against Mr. McDuck and Quackfaster at the same time, playing without looking. Now that he knew the names of the squares, all he needed to know was where the other person put their piece and he could easily play against them with his eyes closed. It felt nice to be so good at something, to feel so confident.

“Sweet jesus,” Quackfaster whispered as Louie checked her, beating Mr. McDuck long ago.

Louie smirked, watching the woman study the board in front of her. Lena was going to  _ love  _ hearing about this later.

“Before I go,” the woman said, pulling out a nice-looking camera, “do you mind if I took a picture of you and Mr. McDuck? This will be great for the archives!”

Nodding mutely, Louie walked over to stand next to his mentor. The old man was sitting in his usual spot, glancing over at Quackfaster like she had lost her mind. Grinning slightly at the interaction, Louie turned to look back over at the camera, placing a hesitant hand on Mr. McDuck’s shoulder.

“Say Queen!” Quackfaster said, bouncing a bit behind her camera.

“Queen.”

-

Louie was called to Mrs. Beakley’s office the next day.

Duckworth walked him up, old eyes searching Louie’s, as if looking for some kind of explanation. He didn’t have one though, especially when he hadn’t done anything wrong since he’d arrived. He couldn’t think of one thing Mrs. Beakley could have been upset over.

Walking into the office, Louie was stunned. Light pooled in from grey curtains which complemented the dark walls and mahogany furniture. Mrs. Beakley sat behind a perfectly neat desk in the middle of the room, Quackfaster sitting in one of the chairs in front of it. Louie quickly took up the other, fiddling with his shirt collar nervously.

“Miss. Quackfaster tells me you’re a gifted child,” Mrs. Beakley said, and there was an edge to her voice that sent shivers crawling up Louie’s spine. “She has an unusual request to make, she would like to take you to the high school she works at on Thursday afternoon. She insists you’re a phenomenal chess player, and she wants you to  _ perform  _ for the chess club.”

“I was suggesting to Mrs. Beakley,” Quackfaster said, turning slightly to look at Louie, “that you could come and play the chess club all at the same time.”

“We loved to give our children chances to experience life outside the orphanage,” Mrs. Beakley lied, and Louie narrowed his eyes at her, “but I’m a bit wary of letting Llewelyn go off to the local high school.”

“It would be a  _ very  _ good opportunity,” Quackfaster insisted, “a chance to get Methuen into the newspaper even.”

Mrs. Beakley sighed, glancing over to Louie, “well Llewelyn, do you want to play at the local high school?”

“Yes Ma’am…” Louie said, struggling to keep the quiver out of his voice, “I’d like to.”

“Okay,” the headmistress said, a false smile on her face, “I guess that settles it then.”

The two women said their goodbyes, but Louie didn’t bother to listen. His heart was pounding in his ears, watching intently as Mrs. Beakley turned to look back at him. She seemed frustrated and annoyed with him, as if  _ he’d  _ asked Quackfaster to come up and ask her to let him leave the orphanage.

“Miss. Quackfaster told me you’ve been playing chess in the basement with Mr. McDuck,” The headmistress said, her eyes like steel as she looked down at Louie. “This is  _ very  _ upsetting, Llewelyn. Have you been into the basement?”

Louie nodded his head, his hands clenched behind his back, “... yes ma’am.”

“Well, we can’t have that,” Beakley insisted, “Methuen cannot afford to know we have little boys playing chess in the  _ basement.  _ If you would really like to play the game, I believe we have a few sets in the game closet. I will have Duckworth look into it. Until then, you are dismissed, Llewelyn.”

Louie had a bad feeling about the next few days.

-

The green pills were missing the next day.

Louie glared down at the tiny cup in his hand, where a single red pill rattled. Glancing up to Duckworth he snapped, “there’s one missing.”

“That’s it,” the older man said with a shrug, “new state law, no tranquilizers for children.”

Looking behind him, Louie could see the tall jar of green pills high up on a glass shelf. His mouth watered as he looked at them, a desperate  _ need  _ for the tiny capsules filling his mind. He knew there was only  _ one  _ left in his ‘stash’ and that it wouldn’t hold him over.

Louie needed a plan.

-

“Do you have any extra pills?”

He asked it two days later, late at night, as he leaned against Lena’s side. She was running her fingers through his hair like she usually did, calming him. Louie had started to have even worse insomnia now that the pills were gone, not to mention anxiety. Lena seemed to be the only calming factor in his life anymore (now that he couldn’t see Mr. McDuck because of the headmistress).

“No,” she muttered, “I wish I did. But the state’s apparently really upset about them giving us pills.”

“There’s still there you know…” Louie whispered, imagining the jar in the back of the ‘pharmacy’ “in the big jar.”

The fingers stopped in his hair, and Louie couldn’t help but let out a whimper at the loss of contact. His body was shaking, wracked with chills, and his skin was raised with goosebumps. Lena eyed him warily, comprehension dawning in her eyes.

“You’re having withdrawal symptoms aren’t you?”

“I don’t know,” Louie muttered, “what are those?”

He had heard his Mother use the term before, always when she began running out of pills. She would get sick and complain of muscle pains or being cold. Louie hadn’t understood it when he was younger, just assuming it was a cold or virus. Now that he was experiencing what it was like to no longer have the pills though… he understood far too well.

“It’s because I stopped taking the pills Isn’t it?”

Lena nodded, “look around Louie, there are going to be some jumpy orphans around the next few days.”

-

When Thursday came, Louie wasn’t ready.

His head was pounding, and he had already thrown up at least a handful of times. There was no amount of comforting from Lena that could help him now, and sleep seemed like a far off memory. He didn’t exactly have high hopes for the chess meet.

Everything from Mrs. Beakley telling him to behave to Quackfaster coming over to pick him up seemed to pass in a haze. Chess was the last thing on his mind if he was honest, the only thought ringing through his head was  _ ‘pills, you need the pills.’ _

Luckily, Lena came in clutch.

“Wait!” She called as Quackfaster was just about to drag Louie out the front door. Coming to a stop beside him, Lena gave a sheepish smile, “sorry, can I wish my friend good luck really quick?”

Quackfaster sighed, “fine, I’ll be in the car when you're ready.”

As the older woman walked off, Lena turned to Louie with a mischievous gleam in her eyes. She shook his hand, smirking as she pulled away. Louie could feel two small objects still resting in his palm. “Good luck,” she said honestly, before quickly walking away.

Louie smiled down at the two little pills in his hand, quickly swallowing them down.

-

The classroom was interesting.

Before Methuen Louie had never gone to school before, staying home with his Mom and being ‘home schooled.’ And while the one at the orphanage  _ was  _ a real classroom, it didn’t even come close to the size of the one at Archive High.

At the front of the room was a large chalkboard with the words  _ ‘Welcome Llewelyn Duck!’  _ written on it in big, loopy letters. The desks had been arranged into a large rectangle, each one having a chess set resting on it. Louie could tell they were nice sets as well, nowhere near as worn as Mr. McDuck’s was.

A loud bell rang throughout the room, and Louie turned to see teens much older than him filing into the room. They all seemed to be even older than Lena (who was the oldest child at Methuen), maybe fifteen or sixteen. Either way they were  _ much  _ taller than Louie, and he couldn’t help but feel a little intimidated with all the eyes boring into him.

“Take your seats and be quiet, please!” Quackfaster called from the front of the room, “You can sit where you want, there will be no talking.”

Louie turned to the first board after each of the teens had sat down, opening at number one before making his way around. The students glared down at him from their seats, but Louie paid them no mind.

It was a  _ massacre. _

-

The withdrawal symptoms only seemed to worsen.

After the chess tournament Lena became tired of Louie’s insistence for more pills, pushing him away until ‘he got himself together.’ Despite his win at the club, Louie had never felt more awful. But he couldn’t seem to find a way around his one-track mind, and as such, couldn’t find his way back into Lena’s graces.

There were no more late-night talks either, and without the distraction of Lena or the numbing of pills, Louie found himself being drowned in memories:

_ “Dewey, can you grab a blanket for me?” _

_ Louie, only six, frowned as he grabbed an itchy blanket up from the cluttered floor. Junk and trash was piled around him, and despite Louie’s best efforts to clean it the trash just kept appearing. He knew if Huey was still around then the mess would probably be gone already. _

_ “I’m Louie, Mom,” he muttered as he laid the blanket over her on the couch. He was used to correcting her by now, accepting that when she was on the pills all her boys were with her rather than just the one. _

_ “What?” The woman mumbled, “no, Louie’s in the kitchen.” _

_ He had been, hours ago. _

_ “Just get some sleep Mom, maybe we can read tomorrow.” _

_ He wasn’t betting on it, but Louie felt the need to mention the prospect. At the very least it would remind her that he was around. _

_ Though he wasn’t sure she cared. _

Blinking away the memory, Louie found himself sitting up in his bed. He had been thinking up a plan for days now, and he could  _ finally  _ put it into fruition.

Lena would talk to him again if he stopped asking about the pills. And Louie would stop asking about the pills if he  _ had  _ the pills

The solution was obvious.

-

Slipping into the basement was easy.

Despite Mrs. Beakley’s vigilance around the room during the day, the dark space was left completely unguarded at night. In fact, the  _ entire  _ place was completely silent as he tip-toed down into the main hall.

Being as quiet as he could, Louie slunk over to the dark basement, and slipped inside. The cement was cold against his feet as he walked slowly around, squinting in the dark as he searched the shelves. Mr. McDuck had long since gone home, and the basement lacked the comforting feeling Louie had always come to associate with it.

He spotted the tool near the back.

It was a simple screwdriver, the handle’s paint chipped away and the metal rusty. Louie was pretty sure it would do the job though, and he quickly grabbed it before hurrying back upstairs.

Heart racing, Louie walked as quickly as he could over to the little pharmacy window. He could see the green pill jar just inside, beckoning him with the promise of shutting his mind off. 

Taking the screwdriver, he pressed it into the side of the lock bolted into the window and began to turn. It was an achingly slow process (made only slower by the need to stay quiet), but Louie forced himself to have patience. He couldn’t afford to get caught.

Holding his breath, he slowly twisted the last screw out, catching the lock before it could fall. He set the piece of metal to the side, using his fingers to slowly,  _ slowly,  _ slide the window open. Louie’s fingers quivered with both excitement and withdrawal, his mouth watering for the tiny pills just inches away.

Pulling a chair up to the window, Louie climbed through the small space and pulled a small table that was sitting in the middle of the room closer. The small legs screeched as they dragged across the floor, and Louie winced as the sound echoed through the hall.

Once he had gotten the table over to the window, Louie used it to climb down to the floor. His heart was roaring in his ears, and everything else ceased to matter as he rushed over to the jar of pills. Louie could feel his brain begging for the sweet floating feeling, and the reminder of Lena’s silence dug deep into his mind.

Opening the jar, Louie began to swallow them by the handfuls, not caring to think about the consequences. He just needed  _ more,  _ and pill after pill made its way down his throat. He stuffed them into his pockets too, hands shaking heavily as he dropped most of them to the ground.

By the time he remembered that he was supposed to go back to sleep it was too late. Louie could hear the sound of fast paced steps somewhere in the hall, and his body was too out of it to even try hiding. He gasped for breath, stomach threatening to heave forward and horrible chills wracked his body.

_ “Llewelyn!” _

“Mom?”

Louie blacked out.

**Author's Note:**

> If you have any tag recommendations please comment them to me! I want to make my works as well-tagged as possible.


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